Riven sat alone in the quiet wooden study hall, the evening sun casting long shadows across the floor. He was small—still a child—but his sharp eyes scanned the glowing blue screen in front of him with a kind of intensity no boy his age should've had.
[SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED]
He had found it.
After hours of meditation and experimenting with breathing techniques from his past life, something clicked. Now, the interface shimmered faintly before him, detailed and vast. But something was off—
[ERROR: System Details Obscured. Authority Level Insufficient.]
"Tch," Riven muttered. "Figures. Still locked out."
But what he could see was enough to ignite a fire in his blood. There was a quest section. Equipment slots. Skill trees. Abilities.
And under "Quests," a single task blinked:
Trial of Resolve Push-ups: 0/1000 Running: 0/50 km Strikes: 0/10,000 (arms and legs) Time Limit: 96 Hours
No reward listed. No explanation. Just pure challenge.
Riven's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Looks like you want to see what I'm made of. Fine. Let's play."
The next four days were hell.
While most children played with wooden swords and read fairy tales, Riven pushed his body beyond its limits. His knuckles bled. His muscles screamed. He trained until the world blurred, collapsing only to rise again.
1,000 push-ups, spread between morning, noon, and night. Long laps around the outer training ground, bare feet slapping against cold stone, until he hit 50 kilometers. Kicks and punches thrown endlessly, each one precise, each one echoing with fury.
On the final night, drenched in sweat, he dropped to his knees. The stars above him blurred.
[QUEST COMPLETE]
[LEVEL 1 UNLOCKED]
His vision turned white as new information poured into his mind.
Skill Gained: Flash Step
Teleport up to 5 meters.
Usable 3 times per day.
Skill Menu Unlocked.
Techniques: Muay Thai [Unique] Passives: Endless Will – Your body regenerates stamina at a rapid rate when under extreme pressure. Can continue moving even when physically broken.
Riven laughed, breathless. "Now we're talking."
He stood, fists clenched, a light shimmer around his body. The pain faded—not because it wasn't real, but because he refused to acknowledge it.
He looked at the sky.
"Watch me, Ashren. This time, I'm not stopping halfway."
His system was finally open. His body, while still young, had taken its first steps toward mastery. And his soul—hardened by death, sharpened by suffering—was now backed by something more.
Purpose.
"Riven!"
His father's deep voice boomed from the courtyard.
Riven closed the system screen with a thought. His body was trembling from overexertion, but his face showed nothing.
He walked to the dining hall, where the fire crackled warmly.
His father, a tall man with weathered features and the eyes of a warrior, looked up as Riven entered. "You smell like blood and fire."
Riven bowed slightly. "Training."
His father grunted. "Good. Eat well. You start learning the first breath of the Draconic Art tomorrow."
Riven sat down, eyes calm, heart burning.
This was only the beginning.
After dinner, Riven lingered by the doorway of the hall, the warmth of the fire fading behind him. His parents were still at the table, speaking in hushed tones. He leaned silently against the wall, just close enough to hear.
"The scouts confirmed it," his mother said. "The monsters from the eastern ridge have moved. They're converging near Redhorn Village."
His father's voice lowered. "Three days from now, that village could be overrun. And it's only a half-day ride from here."
"Should we alert the martial sect?"
"Not yet. We'll send a private force to assist the border. I don't want to cause panic."
Riven's eyes narrowed. A monster invasion? So soon?
He exhaled through his nose and turned away. "Too early to care," he whispered to himself. "I'm not strong enough yet anyway."
He made his way through the dimly lit hallways of the estate toward his room. The flicker of torches painted dancing shadows on the walls. Most of the house had gone to sleep.
But as he turned the final corridor, a faint sound stopped him.
Thump. Thump. Crack.
It was coming from the outer courtyard. Someone was still training. He peered through the doorway.
There, bathed in the pale moonlight, a lone figure stood barefoot on the cold stone floor. Each motion was fluid, precise, and devastating. Sweat glistened on the person's back. Their arms moved like whips, fists slicing through the air with trained mastery.
It wasn't one of the adults. The figure was young—maybe a few years older than Riven—but their movements had the sharp edge of discipline.
Riven stepped forward slightly, curiosity burning in his eyes.
"Who…?"
The figure paused for a breath, sensing his gaze, then resumed their flow without a word.
Riven watched for a moment longer, then silently turned away.
"Interesting," he whispered. "I'm not the only one with something to prove."
With that, he walked back toward his room, the faint echoes of late-night training ringing in his ears.
The world was bigger than he thought.
And much more dangerous.